


For The World is Hollow

by Ghanima (Ananais)



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-26 11:50:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20741753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ananais/pseuds/Ghanima
Summary: To save a life a life must be taken. Merlin comes back from the Isle of the Blessed changed.





	For The World is Hollow

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for the nightmares rand monsters challenge at merlin_flashfic but I missed the deadline. Originally written under the author name janelane18 on livejournal.

Merlin came back changed.

The water hisses and evaporates where it touches him. He feels the power tingling along his skin, slowly sinking into him and he draws it in, feeding his newfound strength. Turning his face into the rain, he closes his eyes and allows his mind to drift. Before a spell can even form in his mind, he sends the rain away with little thought and even less effort. He can sense the threads of life in Gaius, still trembling at his side, even in the slippery grass beneath him. Looking back, that was the moment Merlin should have realized something was wrong.

Riding back, still trembling from the after effects of what he had done, Merlin is too drunk with power and relief to be anything other than happy to be alive. He laughs at Gaius’s lecture on reckless behavior as the hope that his mother will be recovered grows with every mile they cover. The ride itself is a blur and suddenly they’re back in Camelot as if magic had sped their way, entirely possible considering Merlin’s tenuous grasp on it at the time. The power was like riding a bucking stallion, feral and intense, as likely to kill him as help him.

Merlin slips from the saddle onto the ground, limbs gone weak and shaky, but he’s strong enough to help Gaius down in a more dignified dismount and they both hobble to the physician’s quarters. Depositing Gaius safely in a comfortable chair, Merlin rushes to his room and throws the door open, not quite knowing what to expect. Gwen beams up at him, the late afternoon sun highlighting the light strands in her hair and the dark circles under her eyes. Merlin owes her too much and has never been more grateful to have made such a loyal friend. 

Beyond her, his mother is sitting up, barely. Her face is wan and tired but her grin is happy and more than he ever expected to see again. Merlin falls to his knees beside the bed, taking her outstretched hands and lowering his head over them. Too close. He almost lost everything. 

Merlin only realizes he’s crying when he feels one of her hands wiping away the salty tracks. Another hand touches his back briefly before he hears the door close quietly behind him. Gwen. It strikes him suddenly that he never said goodbye to her. He didn’t even think of it in his rush to leave and he’s grateful once again that he won’t have to; that he can still track her down later to thank her. Right now, he looks at his mother through watery eyes and offers a shaky smile.

“I’m glad you’re better.” 

Later, after she is asleep and Gaius is resting, looking stronger after one of his concoctions, Merlin leaves the castle. He walks past the buildings, out of the gate and across the road into the forest. In a daze, he walks until he can no longer hear the tread of wagon wheels or the sound of hooves and voices. Once he’s far enough away, Merlin collapses onto a rock and tortures himself with thoughts of other worlds where Arthur dies or where Arthur lives and his mother dies horribly, painfully, or where they both live and he cradles Gaius’s dead body while Nimueh looks on coldly. And finally he thinks of Nimueh and the lengths he had to go to stop her.

With all the possible ways it could have ended and the way it finally did bashing around his head, he laughs, loud and hysterical and probably half mad. Merlin laughs himself sick, the manic hilarity morphing into sobs that feel ripped from his chest. He stays out there until he feels drained of everything and barely able to stand. Unnoticed, the sun sets and the light filtering between the trees fades into darkness. Eventually he sleeps.

Merlin dreams of a girl with dark hair and dark eyes, who is quick to smile and pull him along behind her. Another man appears at his side, sad eyes grey as storm clouds in an otherwise kind face. They stand in the square of a village Merlin has never been to. The man holds a wooden staff carved with unfamiliar symbols that he uses to call up blue fire over the worn cobblestones much to the amusement of the dark eyed girl. 

Merlin feels his dream self laugh along with them as green fire flows down his arms, pooling into a ball in his cupped hands. It floats serenely from him joining the wave of blue fire. The dark eyed girl dances around them and from her upraised hands small ravens flow from her fingers, growing larger as they fly to the green orb, dipping into the blue fire like seagulls in the ocean. The birds are an illusion, at least his dream self knows that, but the draft from their beating wings and the sounds of their harsh cries are all too real. A group of children, laughing and pointing excitedly at the spectacle, run from behind them. Accepting the compliments from the parents, the three sorcerers watch them play.

Sometime before dawn Merlin awakes slowly and like a sleepwalker he stumbles back to the castle. Groggy and confused with his head too full of memories of inky black feathers, he fails to notice that the rock, once a large piece of granite, has collapsed into sand beneath him. The grass and the flowers that once stood there are not only dead, but decomposed and gone as if nothing had ever grown there. Even the trees around him have aged to decay in an afternoon. Death is all around him, radiating from him. The grass withers under each of his footsteps back to the castle.

Everything seems to get better afterwards. Merlin talks with his mother while she regains her strength, makes Gaius comfortable and takes over some of his duties temporarily. He teases Arthur out of the bad moods brought on by his bedridden state, laughs with Gwen, runs errands around the castle and charms sweets from the cooks. Everything is blissfully normal except for him. 

There’s something different that he can’t fully account for. And he still can’t explain why but the feeling that he’s missing something important, that events are slipping out of his control little by little only increases. Scratch the surface and see the whole structure of denial and fear and desperation he’s slowly building, waiting for one little act to send the whole thing toppling over. 

More and more, Merlin feels restless and itchy, like something is skittering just beneath the surface. Shards of it, whatever it is, in skin that no longer seems to fit anymore, sinking into muscles and bones. His body is starting to feel unfamiliar to him, different in slight ways and his magic is even more unreliable. 

Gaius tells him some fluctuations are expected considering the power he called on, that there’s nothing physically wrong with him. But Gaius watches him all the time now. He wants to talk about what happened, how Merlin is handling it but Merlin doesn’t know what to say. How can you explain to someone that you no longer feel at home in your body, that sometimes when you look in the mirror something else looks back? 

Merlin startles awake in the middle of the night, dreams vanishing like mist leaving behind their chill and the fear. Sometimes he dreams of a woman with fair hair and eyes the same blue as Arthur’s, who smiles at him sadly or frowns in concentration. Other times he dreams of the dark eyed girl. She is older and looks at him furiously while chastising him about decisions that will lead to nothing but pain. His dream self defends the choices but is secretly consumed by doubt. The grey eyed man simply asks if it was worth the cost. In the distance, the grim shape of Camelot looms.

The dream shifts and Merlin sees the fair haired woman grimacing in pain, her face pale with blood loss. Midwives scurry around a room made stuffy with sickness and apprehension. Uther, much younger and more afraid than Merlin ever thought him capable of, paces and yells and is finally taken away by a knight. Merlin wakes from these dreams choked with emotions that feel foreign to him. The dreams fade leaving hazy fragments, nothing firm that he can grasp and use to explain his unease. 

The dark eyed woman visits him often. In each successive encounter she grows more remote, their relationship broken beyond his dream self’s ability to heal. Merlin tries to tell Gaius about the dreams but something steals the details from his mind and freezes his tongue. The visions leave him awake and shaking most nights. Curling into a tight ball, he whispers spells haphazardly to try to end them, banish them from his mind, but ultimately fails. He always forgets what it is that wakes him in the first place - the sound of familiar laughter echoing in his head. 

The dreams begin to follow him into his waking life, appearing in startling vividness. Arthur will smile or ask something and Merlin will see the woman, her hands quick over her embroidery, the hallucinations so real that he often gets lost in them, forgetting Arthur is even in the same room. 

He sees the dark eyed woman across the practice yard, green lightning racing up her arms. As Arthur and his knights fade from his sight the grey eyed man walks towards him and Merlin knows instantly that the man is dead just as he knows that they both have stepped out of the events of the dream and the man is addressing Merlin directly, not his dream self. Be wary of your dreams; they work against you.

The situation progresses to the point where Merlin begins to wake in unknown places far from his bed and no memory of how he got there. He agonizes over whether he’s losing his mind; maybe all the stress of hiding and trying to keep Arthur safe has finally gotten to him. Merlin wasn’t this person who killed without hesitation in Ealdor. His magic wasn’t a weapon in Ealdor. Part of him whispers, is it worth it? Is saving Arthur worth losing myself? When he tries to seek out Gaius again, he’s hit by another splitting headache and forgets. 

Most days Merlin is either weary or restless or quick to anger, snapping like Arthur in one of his tantrums except with the added nuisance of his power seeping through what little control he has, causing minor accidents he strives to hide. 

The magic book provides no answers. His magic is increasingly erratic and responds less and less to his will. Gaius tries to help Merlin, thinks of excuses to keep him away from the rest of the castle, but with little to go on since Merlin can’t explain what the problem is, his help is ineffective.

On the last night he sleeps, Merlin dreams of a banquet. One minute he’s laughing with Gwen, blowing the feather of that stupid hat out of his eyes. The next, the pitcher of wine is shattered on the floor and he is in front of a startled Uther hurling insults and accusations at him. When the guards try to stop him, he tosses them at the wall with the flick of a hand, hearing the sickening crunch of armor and bones breaking. Merlin kills Uther with his own sword, stabbing it into his deceitful heart.

Everyone screams and backs away from him. The scene slows as if the hall is underwater. He looks down at Uther’s blood on his hands though he can’t remember touching him. Uther exhales his last breath, Morgana sobbing over him. Merlin looks at Arthur and becomes lost in the betrayal, anguish and fury in his friend’s eyes.

Smirking, Merlin feeds off of it even as a part of him, the part that wants desperately to wake up, can’t stop screaming. Arthur is shouting, angrier that Merlin has ever seen him, holding a sword at Merlin’s throat. He hesitates, just like Merlin knew he would, and Merlin snaps his neck with only a thought. He watches the life fade from Arthur’s surprised eyes and lays him gently on the ground. 

Merlin’s eyes fly open, a scream strangled in his throat. Turning, he throws up everything he ate the night before, dry heaving onto the floor. This dream felt like a premonition. Merlin stumbles from his bed, running to Arthur’s room. 

He pauses at the door, catching his breath before pushing it open and slowly making his way into the dark room. Arthur sleeps soundly, for once not twitching or grimacing in pain. Tentatively, Merlin moves closer, placing a trembling hand over Arthur’s heart. He sags in relief at the warm skin and slow thump of life beneath his hand. Arthur shifts slightly and Merlin jumps back, realizing he has no explanation for hovering over Arthur but he can’t make himself leave the room. Instead, he curls shaking at the foot of Arthur’s bed, unable to fall asleep. 

In the morning, Merlin leaves before Arthur wakes and scrubs his bedroom floor cleaner than when he moved in. Later he tries to stay awake against a pillar, ignoring the way Morgana stares at him with anxious and confused eyes. After everything, he has become adept at pushing things he would rather not think of away. 

Increasingly Merlin feels as if he left something of himself behind on the Isle of the Blessed or he picked up a piece of unstable power from Nimueh. Either way, overwhelmed by nightmares or visions, Merlin is losing his mind. Shortly before his magic abandons him completely, he tries one last spell to gain a moment of clarity and realizes they aren’t dreams or nightmares, but memories. But now beyond the ability to fight, he is lost between the two worlds.

~~~

Something is different about Merlin. 

Arthur can’t pinpoint exactly when the change happened; whatever it was, it had happened gradually, building over late mornings, cold breakfasts, increasing piles of dirty laundry and dusty furniture. He buries the twinge of guilt that comes from realizing the magnitude of the problem only when Merlin’s duties begin to suffer more than his usual incompetence could account for; Arthur is determined to find some way to fix it. 

“Merlin.” He keeps his voice easy and calm. Merlin continues to stare at the shattered remains of the bowl on the floor. “Leave it.”

Merlin finally looks up at him, his face tilted slightly to the side and a strange, unreadable look in his eyes. It’s a look Arthur has grown familiar with over the past few days, one that signals that Merlin has once again gotten lost in whatever thought he’s currently obsessing. Worse are the times when Merlin looks at him clearly, all his attention focused on Arthur but something in the way his manservant addresses him makes him feel like Merlin is speaking to someone else. The detached look forming in his eyes now is unknown to Arthur.

Arthur moves closer to Merlin, gripping his shoulders and saying his name again sharply. He can see the recognition come back into Merlin’s eyes, followed by confusion. 

“Arthur?” His eyes dart down to the mess at his feet. “Oh.” He drops and begins picking up the fragments.

“Merlin, I said to leave it.” Arthur kneels beside him, taking the shards from his hands and inspecting the superficial cuts left by the sharp edges.

“I don’t even remember dropping it.”

“Merlin, tell me what’s wrong.” Arthur watches the look of terror flash across Merlin’s face as he stills. Merlin opens his mouth and Arthur finds himself unconsciously holding his breath, waiting to finally find out what’s going on. But the look passes, swallowed as if never there at all.

“Nothing. I think I just slept badly,” Merlin says with a half smile, and even that looks false to Arthur.

Hiding his disappointment, Arthur helps him stand and delivers him to Gaius to have his hands seen to. With Merlin in the older man’s care, Arthur is free to search for answers. Gaius, who would have been the best source of information, has perfected both his silence and deflection abilities and thus gives the impression that he knows nothing of the inexplicable events that tend to surround Merlin. 

Therefore Gwen is his first stop. Arthur hopes that whatever is eating at Merlin is as simple as a lover’s quarrel or rebuffed advances but deep down he knows it’s more serious. Gwen has also noticed a change in Merlin but has no solid explanations for it. Trying a new tactic, he questions her about any strange activities or trips done or taken in the past few weeks. Nothing, but her eyes shift from his and she hesitantly mentions that Merlin left the castle during the prince’s sickness, bringing to Arthur’s mind the boy’s puzzling declaration on one of the more miserable evenings. Gwen is more evasive on Merlin’s actual whereabouts, but agrees that his strange behavior may have originated then. Before he can question her further, Morgana barges her way into the conversation and whisks her servant away. 

Arthur remembers bits and pieces of what happened after he was injured, mostly the soft cadence of voices. What comes through strongest is the initial fierce pain of it and how that faded into a burning cold that spread outwards, overtaking his body. There’s not much he’s sure of, not who visited him or what was said, but one thing he knows for certain - he was dying. Arthur doesn’t acknowledge that lightly; he felt in it in his slowing heart, his aching bones, and the fever eroding his sense away. He was slipping into darkness until something dragged him back out. 

Uther tells him that Gaius found some miracle cure but it can’t be only that. Merlin mysteriously disappeared during his sickness along with Gaius. They both appeared days later, exhausted and sick, but guarded over where they had been and what they had been doing. Arthur had been willing to let the matter drop because Merlin seemed unaffected by whatever happened, and instead he focused on renewing his strength and building his arm back up to fighting capability. But whatever sense of normality Merlin once had now seems to be crumbling.

Over the next few days, Arthur continues to watch Merlin become progressively more distant and preoccupied. That state slowly gives way to the cold and angry Merlin: the snappish Merlin who has Gwen, Gwen, hiding in the laundry room or Arthur yelling back despite his best efforts to stay calm; the Merlin with empty eyes, who wanders aimlessly and unaware as if half asleep. The one who Gaius tries to hide in his room, forestalling Arthur by telling him that his servant is delivering potions or gathering herbs. 

Dawn usually finds Merlin leaning against the wall across from Arthur’s bed or slumped in one of his chairs, eyes half shut. When asked, Merlin says he couldn’t sleep but the bruised look about him says otherwise. Exhaustion is in his every movement; Merlin is choosing not to sleep.

Something has to be done. Arthur is convinced that his Merlin, the one who drops things because he’s clumsy or snaps at Arthur because he deserves it but is always quick with that smile that lights his whole face, is hidden somewhere inside this new Merlin. He misses the Merlin who buzzed around his room pretending to clean while relating the latest castle gossip. He misses the Merlin who looks at him like he really sees who Arthur is.

Arthur slouches further into his seat and looks out of the window at the birds sailing through the air. It promises to be another clear day. Sitting across from him, Merlin holds one of his boots and a cleaning rag though he’s been staring into space for the past half hour. Any effort to bring him out of his trance by uttering increasingly outrageous statements has failed so far. Making a decision, Arthur stands abruptly and takes the boot out of Merlin’s hands, pulling it onto his left leg.

“Merlin, we’re going out. Prepare my things.” Merlin looks up at him for the first time since entering the room, then looks around the room with a confused expression on his face.

“Arthur?”

“My things, Merlin. We’re going hunting.”

The actual organization of the hunt took longer than Arthur would have liked. Merlin proved useless, moving around as if drugged until Arthur finally pushed him down onto the bed to get him out of the way and continued the preparations himself. At last they made their way outside the castle along with a few trusted knights. Already Arthur feels the anxiety of the past few days begin to lift and even Merlin looks a little less pallid and more aware of his surroundings. Once they reach the forest, Arthur sends his men ahead and tries to maneuver a visibly tired Merlin to sit and rest without bringing out the grumpy Merlin.

Pulling out his bow, Arthur slowly takes a breath and releases it. He tests the tautness of the bowstring before pulling it back. Feeling the tension in the sinew he positions his body and ignores the twinge in his arm. Everything zeros in on the buck pawing at the ground fifty paces from him when a loud crash startles him enough to make his shot go wide. The buck takes off into the trees.

“Merlin,” he growls, turning to face his servant. Merlin stares into the trees ignoring him.

“Melin!” he snaps louder but Merlin is still fixated. Arthur is ready to walk over there and physically get his attention when he hears the crash again, coming from the direction Merlin is focused on. Arthur turns just as one of his men- Alric - staggers through the underbrush, breathing harshly and clearly agitated. The man takes no notice of either of them. 

“Arthur, his eyes…” Merlin’s voice is shaking slightly.

Arthur studies Alric for injuries. Blood is dripping from his nose and his eyes are red and irritated. It’s not until a crimson drop trails down his cheek that Arthur realizes the man is crying tears of blood. Then the yelling starts.

Arthur draws his sword as Alric breaks away from them back into the trees. The yelling has ceased, in its place the kind of high-pitched terrified screams that send chills down his back. Somewhere in there are his men and Gods only knows what.

“Merlin, go back to the main road—”

“No! Arthur, I’m not leaving you.”

“That’s an order! Go back to the castle and send help.”

“Arthur—“

“Merlin, go!” With that last command, Arthur runs back into the forest, following the trail of trampled undergrowth left by Alric. He emerges into a clearing devoid of even grass and flowers, the trees around it much older than the ones he passed. There’s blood on the sand at his feet and one of his knights lays dead, glazed eyes staring up at Arthur. The other two knights are writhing and screaming on the ground, their weapons useless beside them. Both are weeping tears of blood. Arthur pauses in alarm.

“Arthur Pendragon,” a voice screeches from behind him. 

Instinctively, Arthur raises his sword and turns but he’s not quick enough. A hand, cold as the grave, grasps his arm and yanks him around. Icy fingers grip his head and pain radiates out from them. His fingers involuntarily loosen, dropping his sword. Gritting his teeth, he tries to fight it off but it’s ineffective. He hears Merlin shouting but the words are lost in the deafening roar in his head. Then the darkness overtakes him.

~~~

It’s a struggle to come around. Images of dead trees and black eyes flash in his head. Arthur calls out to Merlin but hears only silence. He opens his eyes slowly and stares at the ceiling of his room in shock. Sitting up, he’s hit with an agonizing burst of pain in his head. He tries to remember what happened, to pinpoint what was off, but the pain increases until he can barely see. Raising a tentative hand, he tries to massage the pain away but brings it back down in surprise. Blood. 

Arthur stands on shaky legs, almost falling to the ground. Grabbing onto the bed hangings, he manages to keep himself upright. Slowly, he makes his way to the bowl of water set on the table and looks down in horror at himself. There’s blood leaking sluggishly from his nose, dripping down his chin and from his eyes like tears. An image of a knight, blood on his face, flashes before his eyes. He remembers Merlin calling out to him and the need to see him strengthens.

“My Lord, you should still be in bed.” Arthur turns at Gaius’s voice.

“What happened?” His mouth is dry and his voice comes out rough from disuse.

“A sickness, my lord. One caused by magic but we found a cure.” Gaius takes his arm and leads him back to bed, gently laying him down. “You have been unconscious for three days.”

Gwen moves from behind Gaius. She is holding a fresh water basin and a washcloth. 

She sits beside him and begins cleaning the blood from his face.

“Merlin?” he asks.

Gwen wrings out the bloody cloth into the basin. Her eyes focus on her task as she replies. “He’s fine, my lord.”

“Gwen, the Prince needs his rest.” Gwen nods at Gaius before standing and taking the bowl. “Wait. Where’s Merlin? The forest...we were there… and something happened, I think.” The headache increases as he tries to explain.

“Sleep now, my lord. Questions later.” Arthur tries to raise himself up but Gaius places a hand on his head and Arthur feels himself slipping away again.

He wakes in darkness and stumbles from the bed, dresses himself by feel and makes his way to the door almost expecting it to be barred, but it opens easily. He’s certain that this whole mess can be solved if only he can locate Merlin. Before he can make it out of the room, Gaius is there again blocking his exit. Arthur is too weak to fight him off and Gaius ignores all of his protests, ushering him back to his bed. This sequence continues for the next few nights, each attempt at leaving the room halted by Gaius or Gwen and on one memorable occasion, Morgana.

No one will tell him anything about Merlin other than vague assurances of the boy’s health; about his own illness they are more cooperative. Morgana tells him of a magical attack during the last feast. As she fills in the details, Arthur begins to remember the night: flirting with one of the visiting ladies, the smell of her perfume, the sound of Merlin’s laughter. Then shouts from the doorway and as he turns to look he is hit in the chest by a sickly green light. He is falling and Merlin catches him before he hits cold stone.

Shaking and delirious, the last thing he sees is Merlin’s eyes staring fearfully into his. Except something continues to trouble his mind: Merlin should be with him now, is always with Arthur whenever he is injured except for one time, the last time, and look how that turned out.

Arthur grasps Morgana’s arm as she rises from her seat. “Where is Merlin? The truth, Morgana.” She looks down at the hand on her arm. Arthur expects annoyance but there is no censure in her eyes. “Please,” he grits out.

Morgana seats herself again. Gwen, who is placing freshly laundered clothing into his chest, moves to stand at her side.

“Everything was so confusing that night,” she begins softly. “By the time we realized what he was he had already begun his attack. You had fallen and he would’ve have killed you, but Merlin—” Her voice catches and Arthur feels a pit of growing dread in his stomach. “Merlin covered you with his own body and took the brunt of the attack. Arthur, Gaius did everything he could, but…” 

The rest of her words fade away, sucked into the same void that also steals the air from the room. Everything stops except the sound of his breathing, harsh and thunderous. Arthur is almost surprised by the force of the emotions that rise in him. 

The next few moments are a blur. He doesn’t know what he says or what he does to make Morgana and Gwen leave so quickly but he comes back to himself alone and surrounded by broken crockery. Arthur is left to himself for a time. Grateful for the solitude, anger loses the battle to his grief and he mourns, lost and stricken.

Against his wishes Arthur succumbs to his body’s weakness and the advice of Gaius and agrees to stay in bed for the next week. Lying back, suffocated by all the trappings of his room, he has only his memories and recriminations for company. Merlin figures prominently in both. He sleeps fitfully that night, dreaming of Merlin in a grove of dead trees and then Merlin, cold and lifeless on the ground.

A voice whispers his name softly and Arthur turns towards it, becoming aware slowly. Familiar blue eyes look back at him in the dim light provided by the fire. The prince breathes in sharply and reaches out a shaking hand. He traces over the warm skin, brushes over eyes and sharp cheekbones, down to lips where Arthur feels the soft exhale of breath. 

“Arthur.” He feels the vibrations of the word more than he hears it and pulls Merlin towards him, wrapping his arms tightly around the thin body, all the things he wants to say choking in his throat. He buries his face against Merlin’s shoulder and just breathes while Merlin’s fingers card gently through his hair.

He wakes in the morning alone. The next night he dreams it again. Merlin watches him sadly from his perch on the corner of Arthur’s bed.

“This is a dream,” Arthur whispers into the darkness.

“Yes.” The voice breaks what little control Arthur has. He stands and shouts all his fears and his grief, the words erupting as cutting rebukes when they leave his lips. All of his anger at Merlin for throwing his life away for nothing comes to the surface.

“It was my life to give,” Merlin yells back and Arthur shoves him off the bed.

The next night Merlin rants about destiny and sacrifice. Arthur filters the words out, his own rage still simmering. He grabs Merlin’s arm and shoves him into the wall, crowding against him. Gripping Merlin’s shoulders, Arthur pushes him harder into the stone. Merlin glares at him, shaking with emotion. Arthur is so close he can feel the heat radiating from Merlin’s body and it’s like a knife in his chest.

“It wasn’t worth it.” Arthur brings a hand up to gently cradle Merlin’s head, brushing a thumb over his cheek. Merlin shivers at the touch. “The price was too much.” His voice sounds strained but he can’t hold back, not anymore. For once he doesn’t care if someone sees what he’s feeling, if Merlin sees.

“Not to me,” Merlin whispers almost against his lips. The anger has left Merlin’s eyes leaving emotions Arthur tries hard not to read too much into. This is only a dream, he repeats to himself.

“It’s alright, Arthur. I’ll find some way out of this.”  
He sounds so sure of himself but it just twists the knife further. “Not death, Merlin.”

“I’m not dead, Arthur.”

Arthur ignores the last statement. Closing his eyes, he leans his forehead against Merlin’s and just takes solace in his presence, takes whatever peace he can find in this moment.

The next night Arthur feels too drained to react.

“I’m still dreaming.” It isn’t a question but Merlin nods anyway. 

“Can you stay with me?” Merlin doesn’t answer, just stretches his long body beside Arthur and watches him until he sleeps. After that, Merlin lies beside him without being asked. Arthur tells Merlin about his day, about his attempts to practice with his men, the meetings with his father and then about the excuses everyone makes so that he is never alone, always watched.

“Is this madness?” Arthur asks softly, searching Merlin’s eyes for an answer. “I feel like I’m sleepwalking through my days, counting the hours until I can sleep and dream this. Dream you. Am I mad, that this is more real to me than anything else?” Merlin shifts towards him, so close they’re almost sharing breaths. 

“I’ll find a way out of this, Arthur.” Eyes closed, Arthur feels the ghost of lips across his forehead.

Each night it continues and each morning it’s harder to continue his day knowing that Merlin is dead.

“Stop haunting me.” Arthur buries his face in the pillow but doesn’t move to push Merlin’s arms away from him.

The next morning he stays in bed, ignoring the maid’s efforts to clean the room and sending away the breakfast. Eventually he dresses and wanders around his room, picking things up at random and putting them down restlessly. Gwen arrives with his lunch and sits with her embroidery. It happens so often now he no longer comments on it. He ignores the lunch and stares out the window at the trees in the distance.

“Gwen?” She looks up expectantly. “Did he suffer?” There’s no need to explain who he’s referring to.

She thinks on it, her face calm. “It was a quick death, my lord.” 

Arthur waits for more but Gwen returns to her embroidery. Merlin doesn’t come that night or the ones after that. Arthur doesn’t realize how much he’s come to rely on those nightly visits until they’re gone, leaving a gaping hole that nothing fills. A void Arthur tries to block with meetings and inane conversations, endless practices with his men that leave them bloody and bruised. At dusk he leaves the castle for the city and loses himself in pitchers of ale that numb the grief and brawls that feed his rage. After the fourth time he comes home bloody and hung over, Gaius confines him to his rooms using some excuse about a relapse in his sickness. Arthur doesn’t care enough to fight him. He takes the potion Gaius gives him and passes out.

“Arthur.” 

Arthur blearily looks up in surprise, hardly daring to hope. Merlin looks down at him, concerned and somehow paler than the last time Arthur saw him.

“Arthur, I don’t have long but I figured it out. You’re the key.” Merlin is speaking fast, gesturing agitatedly with his hands. “This is a dream. It’s all a dream and you can break the spell if you wake up. Do you understand me? Wake up!”

Arthur wakes with Merlin’s words ringing in his head. In an instant he sees the forest and remembers cold hands. Something happened there despite everyone denying it. He needs to see Merlin.

Arthur stands shakily. He feels weaker than a night of drinking should account for but doesn’t let it stop him. Making his way towards the door, he is no longer surprised by Gaius’s sudden appearance.

“My lord, you must rest.”

Arthur shakes Gaius’s hand off roughly. Gaius stops and stares at him. He thinks of the physician’s lack of remorse over Merlin’s death and Gwen’s emotionless face. Everyone acts like dolls playing a part.

“You can’t keep me here, can you?” Arthur smirks and pushes Gaius away. Gaius continues to stare passively.

Arthur walks out of the room. Outside Gwen follows him, asking him calmly to return to his quarters. He ignores her. Soon she is joined by Morgana, who is neither angry nor insulting. She too makes no move to physically stop him. 

“Arthur.”

He stops at his father’s voice.

“I’m glad you’re better son.” Uther grasps his arm and surprisingly, embraces him tightly. “I was worried,” Uther whispers against his ear.

Arthur holds onto his father, breathes in raggedly. “I’m sorry to have worried you, Father.”

Uther pulls away and smiles, cupping the back of Arthur’s head with one hand. “Come, you still have to rest.” Arthur sags into his father’s supporting arm.

“I’m proud of you, son.” Arthur stills, the smile slipping from his face as he looks at the love and pride shining out of his father’s eyes.

“No,” he whispers, pushing the arm away. “No.” He backs away from his father who makes no move to stop him. From Gwen, Morgana and Gaius who all stare at him emptily. 

“Arthur.” His father’s voice isn’t angry or confused.

Pulling from his reserves, Arthur breaks into a run. He arrives at Gaius’s workroom barely out of breath and rushes past the clean tables, for once not covered in notes or potions, up the stairs to Merlin’s room. The door is barred by something on the other side. Arthur throws his shoulder into it and finally breaks it open. 

Merlin lies on his cot. Pale as his sheets, he’s sweating and murmuring feverishly. Arthur drops to his knees beside him, reaching out and touching the solid flesh. Merlin’s eyes snap open and bore into his.

“Wake up!”

The room around them begins to shake, the walls melting and the floor shifting beneath them. Arthur pulls Merlin against him, covering his body with his own. He closes his eyes, waiting for the ceiling to collapse but the room reforms into the great hall.

“You are very persistent, Arthur Pendragon.” Arthur looks up at a woman with dark hair and dark eyes and flashes again to the dead grove in the forest. “The boy was right. My power is subterfuge. The illusion is only as real as you believe it to be.”

“It was you in the forest.”

“I see your memory is returning. You are stronger than I gave you credit for.”

“Where are we? Why are you doing this?”

“This,” she gestures around expansively, “this is your mind. I simply used your memories to build this illusion for you. As for why, it is because of him.” She points at Merlin shivering beneath him.

“He has something I want. He is too weak to leave this place yet has the strength to continue resisting me. I had not meant to take you but where he would die fighting me, he would not sacrifice your life as lightly. Thus you have become part of my trap, young Pendragon. Once I get what I came for, you are free to go.”

“What do you want?” She ignores the question and holds her hands up. Arthur feels himself being pulled up and tossed across the room.

“No!” Merlin shouts holding up his hand. Arthur stops before he hits the wall.  
Merlin’s eyes are golden. All the inconsistencies, the coincidences Arthur ignored before all adding up into a horrible picture.

“Arthur, I’m sorry.” Merlin tries to stand, his face wrecked. Arthur turns away from him, overwhelmed by the duplicity.

“You care for him even though he will kill you for what you are.”

“Yes.”

“Would you trade your life for his?”

“Yes.” Arthur’s head snaps back to see Merlin staring defiantly at the woman.

“Then let go.” She holds out a hand again. Merlin falls, twisting and writhing on the stone floor, gasping desperately for breath. 

“Leave him alone!” Arthur struggles against his invisible bindings but they hold him fast.

The woman walks around Merlin.

“All this time you have been trying to shield his mind from my attempts to control him but the more you try to protect him the weaker you grow,” the woman says maliciously.

Arthur realizes that all the irregularities in this world were Merlin’s efforts to warn him. The woman begins speaking incantations as a ball of power gathers in her hands. It leaves her, falling into Merlin’s chest. Merlin screams as if dying, and then lies still on the ground. The woman backs away, watching avidly.

Whatever Merlin is, whatever lies he has told, Arthur wants nothing more than to see some sign that he’s still breathing. “Merlin. Get up. I order you to get up now!” Arthur’s voice is strangled, pulled from a chest tight with pain, hoping that this one time Merlin will obey him.

Merlin’s back arches painfully off the ground, green fire rising from his chest. Arthur watches in horror as the green fire hardens into a form, a woman with black hair and blue eyes. Her body is somehow transparent, flickering in and out of focus. He knows her. The woman steps gracefully away from Merlin’s body.

“How?” Merlin’s voice is so soft Arthur barely hears. His chest loosens in relief, allowing him to continue his efforts to free himself.

“You did not think you could kill a Priestess of the Old Religion so easily? You are powerful Emrys, but you are young and still have much to learn. A part of me died along with my earthly body but the rest transferred to you.” Her voice is soft, her smile almost kind, but her eyes are pitiless.

“The rain.”

The Priestess nods. “We are creatures of Old; I am my power as you are yours. When you took in that power, you took in me. Now you are weakened from my power working through you. In order to make the transformation final, I need a willing surrender.” 

“The dreams, the nightmares - they were all you!”

“Merlin, you can end this torment. Simply let go.”

“If you are so powerful why can’t you just take it?” Merlin grits out.

“The force required would destroy us both. Do not underestimate me; if I have to, I will. I told you we are too valuable to each other to be enemies but after what you’ve done, I cannot let you live.” The steel in her voice attests to her determination.

“Nimueh!” Arthur has almost forgotten the dark eyed woman is still here. Nimueh doesn’t acknowledge the outburst.

“Merlin, look at him.” Nimueh ruthlessly yanks Merlin’s head up by the hair. He’s pale and sweating, tears of blood beginning to leak from his eyes. Arthur recognizes it now as a side effect of the woman’s power. “You can save him. My word that he will go free unharmed if you stop fighting me.”

Arthur remembers something she told him. “You can’t kill me.”

Nimueh looks up at that but it is the black eyed woman who answers in a voice that sends shivers down his spine.

“It is not our destiny to kill you, but for my sister I will keep you here until your mind rots from madness.”

Both women surround Merlin. Arthur wants to tell him to fight but the words freeze in his throat; Merlin looks barely strong enough to stand on his own.

Merlin looks at him desperately, then his eyes clear as if coming to a decision. “Arthur, you’re worth it. You’re always worth it. There never was any other choice,” he says softly before turning to Nimueh. “You win.” Almost before the words are out, Merlin’s eyes roll back into his head as he sags into her hold.

“Merlin!” The name is torn from his throat, the fear and disbelief in his voice echoing throughout the hall.

The women commence chanting. Merlin begins fading in and out in contrast to Nimueh’s form becoming stronger. The walls around them start to melt again as Arthur tries to fight the suffocating darkness and pain brought by the world shifting. The last image he sees is of a now solid Nimueh leaning over the ghostly form of Merlin and he knows no more.

Arthur wakes on his knees in the forest. The dark eyed woman stares down at him except here she is older with tree bark growing out of her skin. Her cold fingers still grip his head.

“Sister.” The woman turns at Merlin’s voice, releasing the prince.

Merlin is standing, studying his body as if seeing it for the first time. He holds his hands out and grass sprouts from the barren ground. The trees seem to age backwards in minutes and shoot fresh leaves. “It is good to be free.”

“Merlin?” He asks cautiously, though deep down he knows something is horribly wrong.

Merlin turns to look at him and something in his eyes freezes Arthur in his place, binding him even more tightly than the magical constraints surrounding him.

“Not anymore.” And the thing smiles as they vanish into white light, releasing the power keeping Arthur upright.

Arthur falls to the ground alone, surrounded by the bodies of his dead knights. Merlin’s words are once again echoing in his head but now he knows the dream is over and waking will solve nothing. Merlin was his to protect and he failed him in every imaginable way.

The sunlight breaks through the trees and on the ground Arthur curls his body, chest pressed against his folded legs, and opens his mouth in a silent scream into the fresh grass. 

Merlin is gone.


End file.
